My name is Linus Tate, and as I write this I am sixteen years old.
Now, up until about three months ago, life was just fine. I was a student in high school, kicking ass in my classes thank you kindly, and just content with dealing with my own personal life. Two older sisters, parents, school, my friends, having an interest in sci-fi and fantasy and not being sports-proficient that ensured that I was going to have to pay rent to the school lockers because of all the time I'd end up spending in one.
That's annoying enough, though if any of the neander-jocks caught me glancing in the locker room (because all teenagers have raging hormones, period) which I could sometimes not stop myself from doing after gym class, no locker could save me. Hell, even my nerdy friends don't know about that part; you'd think those who are outcast-ish would be more tolerant but noooo. Still, every time one of them uses the 'F' word playing Counter-Strike over the X-Box network, my trigger finger ususally gets a sudden itch. With the rocket launcher.
Ah, videogames. What better way to feed our passive-agressive social defensiveness.
Ah, self-dislike. Is there no snark you cannot produce?
In any case, I was happy to immerse myself in my schoolwork and videogames and pizza and assorted other teenage dork things. Were I lucky, or were I less of a doof who didn't poke into everything, I probably would have a perfectly normal life still. But no, such things were not to be, and I'm beginning to wonder if they ever were supposed to be.
Let me backtrack a little more; I'm a third generation Californian, living in the now-San-Angeles area. I was born here, I grew up here, I soiled my tighty-whities when I was twelve and the California Tectonic Event happened and shredded the area I lived in. I…lost people I knew. Kids at school, some of their folks. I remember going to those memorial services for almost a solid week, and after where no sign of of the bodies appeared. I mourned them all; I'm not an ass. But I got a little angrier after that, in general. Mostly because deep down I think I felt so helpless in the face of a quake like that…
But, moving on. I was born here. My folks were born here. My grandparents came from Boston, when my grandfather had a job transfer in the sixties. His parents were born in Boston, and on at least my dad's side of the family the Tates can be traced back to the Mayflower, or another ship during them. You know, Colonialization. Indians, hats with buckles, oh and the Salem Witch Trials. I know everyone's heard about those.
But did everyone know that witch-finders were usually witches themselves? History's covered a good chunk of it up, really; Puritan accusations against non-standard behavior, but that's not quite how it happened. Witch Hunters used magic, but to find those who used magic for evil purposes, because a ton of evil magic-users went East when the Americas were discovered to find new land, new sources of power, and to escape Europe.
Contrary to popular belief, wielding magic is like wielding a tool, or a musical instrument; by itself, it is neither good nor evil. It is the hand that shapes, that plays it, that decides it. A guitar is an instrument, but it's free will that makes it play a Grammy-winning song, or relegates it to the hell of a million garage bands that never got anywhere.
Anyway, to reiterate. Yes, the Salem Witch Trials were messed up, and some Evil Witches were actually stopped in this manner. But, it was magic, used by those who weren't evil, that could detect actual magic. Real evil magic, as opposed to picking on a girl who knew math and knew how to swim.
As I would find out…wait, getting ahead of myself.
Three months ago, I was having my friends over for a Friday night session of Dungeons and Dragons. Because we're dorks; we freely admit this. And we like it that way. But, anyway, I was DMing that night's adventure, and I wanted to do something…just different. I mean, maybe Troy might sneak another beer out of his folk's fridge which we'd all pop open and pass around while we gamed. But I was mostly thinking about using props. Not actual swords and armor, but maybe some old coins for ambience, or older objects just to show off, kick in the imaginations more than 'Magic Missle at the Darkness.' When I found was my grandmother's old costume jewelry.
Now, my deceaused grandmother's regular jewelry was distrubuted among the ladies of the family, and my sisters Ali and Cara got something nice. But the costume jewelry was what she had that was more in bright colors, and pretty much metal and glass and not worth much at all other than sentimental value. Or so I believed.
I remember the thin chain of silvery metal running through my fingers as I looked at the small amulet. The amulet was small; a strange assembly of lines of ebony metal either welded together experty or die-cut from one sheet of metal, the edges blunted with age and not sharp to the touch. In the center was an aquamarine stone the size of my thumbnail, in a perfect circle, set into a silver-colored wire rim. It looked cool, I admit. It didn't even look like it was 'grandma' jewelry. So, in order to collect more pieces to use as props for my game with the guys, I put the amulet on.
Remember how I said witch hunters also used magic, earlier? Remember how I said my family was from Boston?
Remember how I told you that my family had a long tradition of Witch-Hunters that skipped generations and family branches seemingly at random; random members of the Tate family getting the gift once they claim an object of power as their own?
Oh, I didn't tell you about that last part? Well, until I put that amulet on I had no idea about my real family history either!
The next thing I knew, I was talking to a tall man who looked a little like my dad on a plain of shifting wheat. He was wearing dark clothes and one of those hats I mentioned, with a chin-beard that just screamed 'Amish badass.' He explained it to me; the Tate bloodline, our gift with magic, and that the amulet was a family heirloom of the mystical variety; a minor one now, because it had contacted someone who had just touched the edge of their dormant gift.
The 'meeting' felt like three hours. I apparently blanked out for fifteen minutes in the real world while I had a conversation Jonathan Tate, who apparently died a little over three hundred years ago on an Astral Plane which was a wheat field in our minds. I've…met with him a few times since then, and he taught me spells that actually worked in the real world. Minor things, but…useful. I can't even tell my friends; they'd think I was nuts, or worse, the'd try and use it themselves. I'm half-terrified of using the magic, even now.
But, what I know is that there is evil out there. Maybe not the evil witches from centuries past (but you never know), but there are villains. Not the petty jock locker-stuffers; I don't even think about dodging them anymore. I mean real, conquer-the-world evil. That, I can help with. A little. Or, Arcane can. That's the name I'm using til I come up with something better.
